Chapter 15
I rubbed my brow in irritation. The one thing I had been steadfastly trying to ignore, and he had to go bloody remember it. It's not like you can explain to your dream that the reason you're ignoring life is because you like the dream better. It was true as with me as with anybody. I was doing and saying things I'd probably have never done if it weren't for that fact. There was no way I would ever talk to someone in reality the same way I did Sherlock in this dream. I'd most likely get mugged, or something similar to it. Either way, I had two choices. I could tell him that I was using him as an escape from my previous life, which was sorta true, or tell him he would have to use one of his questions, so as to distract him from other things to ask me that I absolutely couldn't answer. Now that I weighed my options, that sounded like the best route to take.
"Nope, can't answer that. Sorry," I informed him, sounding much more cold then I would have liked. My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms. Old feelings were starting to resurface, ones I didn't want to revisit.
"So you loved him, I take it," Sherlock commented.
"I didn't say that," I said quickly, regretting it instantly.
"But he did love you, didn't he." Sherlock moved back over towards me, picking up more books. "Yet you didn't love him back. Or at least not as strongly as he did. You may have even found the ring he was planning to propose with." I looked away from him pointedly. "Was it a nice ring? Most likely old, his mother's or something along those lines. Must've been waiting for just the right girl to give it to. Probably debated for days whether or not it was the right time." His voice was so mockingly cruel it hurt. "Old romantic, bought you flowers for every birthday and Valentine's, chocolates too, and you acted the very part of model girlfriend. Sweet, loyal, but secretly craving something more, something less boring, more spicy."
"What have I said about assuming how I feel?" I said, stopping his monologue. He looked at me, puzzled. "I said not to do it, you prat! If you want to know, then ask. Dear lord, it's like nothing I say makes it past that afro of yours." He didn't reply right away, going so far as to look in the opposite direction, so I added an addendum. "But you were right." He snapped his head back to me. "He was far more invested in our relationship then I ever was. I loved him in a different way, but I was too cowardly to say anything. Everyone around me was happy, and thought we were the most sickeningly sweet couple you could ever find anywhere." I popped my foot up and held my hands to my chest dramatically. "It was safe, and easy."
"And dull," Sherlock added.
"Extremely," I said. "Then I saw the ring, and it hit me that he was serious. And like the universe always does, it solved my dilemma for me, though he didn't deserve to die." I pulled my feet in closer to my body. "It was stupid. It was raining heavily, so hard you could barely see, and I asked him to go get some crisps. He was walking down the street when a car hit him."
"So it wasn't an automobile accident, it was a hit and run," Sherlock said, running his fingers through his hair. "All this time..."
I looked at him strangely. "All this time what?"
"Nothing," he answered quickly. "But thank you for giving me a reason behind your lack of emotion towards the subject of your dead boyfriend. I didn't even have to use a question on it." He smirked at me as I realised in horror that I had been duped. If he kept this up, there would be a one-hundred percent chance of shit storm coming down on his ass. "That still leaves behind the quandary of your continued in imposition on this residence."
"Do you really wanna use a question on that?" I asked.
Sherlock looked at me closely, and I furrowed my brow, not sure what he was trying to deduce. "No, I think I'll save my four questions at present." He went back over to the other side of the room. "Now, look through more of these books. You've an obligation to fill, remember?" He smiled infuriatingly at me, and I scowled back.
"So we can't chat at all?" I asked in a baby voice. He didn't respond. "Aww, you're no fun." I stood up and stretched, yawning. "I'm gonna make some coffee, you want some?" Still no response. "Whatever." I moved into the kitchen. "You know, one of these days you'll realise that the people around you actually try very hard at what they do to help you. Take John for example. Some day, you should thank him for all the hard work he does on his blog. You may even get a string of visitors who want your help specifically because of it's existence. Hell, at some point you may have teenagers who require your assistance, or the press could start following your every move, and potential clients will might begin fainting in your flat. The possibilities are endless."
"None of those options sound appealing." Finally! An answer from the dickhead himself. "And neither do they sound plausible. They are in fact so ridiculous that they have crossed into the realm of impossibility." Ding ding ding! It's the dickhead alarm, come to slap you across the face at dick o'clock in the morning because someone likes to be a righteous dickhead. Did I mention dickhead?
"When you have eliminated the possible, whatever remains, however impossible, must be the truth," I shot back, using his own words against him. "If by next Christmas those things have all happened, then you have to take me out to dinner. If they haven't, then I have to take you. Deal?" I looked at him expectantly.
"Deal," he said. We didn't speak again until the sun came up and John emerged.
"Oh, both of you are still alive," John said in surprise.
"Obviously," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.
"Sorry, I was just a little worried you know," John commented. "I felt sure that one of you might have eaten the other during the night because you got into some sort of row and couldn't resolve it on your own."
I laughed. "Did you get some good sleep then?"
"Marvellous, thanks for asking." He smiled, taking a drink of coffee. "How was the, er, book club last night?" He looked at the stacks and piles we had made. "I don't envy you in the slightest all this," he said, gesturing to the city of novels and towers of self-help books.
"Eh, it was uneventful. Not to mention boring." I flashed a smirk at Sherlock when John looked the other way. "Barely spoke three words to me. I think my presence has offended him again. He's just not equipped to handle my brand of nonsense and tomfoolery. But then again, few are." My limbs extended, stretching to relieve their stiffness.
"Oh I am perfectly equipped to handle it," Sherlock countered. "I simply choose not to." He smiled back contemptuously. "Best get going John, or you'll be late for work. Goodness knows what a loss that would be."
"See you later," John said, putting his coat on. "Sherlock, play nice. Helen, don't murder him." He left, leaving the two of us alone once more.
We kinda sat in an awkward silence for a moment. I tapped my fingers on the side of a chair. "Well, I'm going to rest up. I'll be taking use of your bed again, so don't disturb me." I went down the hallway and into his room, sighing at the thought of some shut eye. "Good night Sherlock Holmes." My head hit the pillows as I pulled the blankets over me, falling asleep instantaneously.
I woke up in a land of nothing. There was no sound, object, movement, save for my own. I was still on the bed, and I squinted around in confusion. It was absolutely blank. My hands moved the covers off me and I let my feet rest on the ground. I wasn't sure where I was, if this was a dream or if it was just my head processing things. I really hoped it wasn't the end of my dream. What a let down.
I stood up and walked a few paces away from the bed, looking around curiously. The further I got from it the less comfortable I got, so I turned to go back. And it wasn't there. Great. Of course it wasn't.
"Hey, mysterious gods of the universe?" I said. "Can you, you know, teach me my lesson then let me go? This seems a bit melodramatic don't you think? I mean, if you need to give remedial life lessons, a simple pamphlet would suffice. I'd heed the hell out of that." It was starting to feel even more awkward. Maybe I shouldn't speak.
The bottom of a rope fell with a plunk next to me, and I jumped in shock. "Really?" I said sarcastically. "A rope?" I gave it a tug, and found it was firmly attached to something above, something I couldn't see. "What the fuck do I do with this?" Still no answer. "Alright, well, I'm not gonna climb it if that's what you think." I grabbed onto it and hoisted my legs up, swinging on it back and forth like a swing. "Wheeeeeeee!" I was simply soaring through the air, but it brought so much enjoyment it's hard to describe. "Look at me bitches, I'm flying!"
Suddenly I fell, my bottom hitting the ground with a thump. "Ow!" The other end of the rope began falling down, somehow no longer able to take weight. It landed with a thud next to me, completely useless. "Oh I see, you guys just wanted to see what I would do and then make fun of me. Well, I hope it was a nice laugh!" I said, reaching for the cord. I saw a splash of red, and looked at my hands, now coated in it. "And now you're making me bleed. Real mature gods, real mature." The ground began to rumble, and I was jostled as my teeth chatted against one another. "Now you're just being childish," I said, sticking my fingers in my ears. "La la la la la, can't hear you!" My entire body was being tossed from side to side, until...
"Wake up!" Sherlock was shaking me, and in my confusion I lashed out. A punch landed right on his nose.
"Oh god, I'm sorry!" I said, getting out of bed. He had turned around from the force, and was now nursing his face. "Let me get you something." I scrambled, trying to find a napkin. There was a box of tissues which I grabbed and handed to him. "Here," I said. He tilted his head back and plugged his nose to stop the bleeding. "No, not back. You've got to lean your head forward. Back and the blood just drains down your throat. I know because one time I had a nosebleed and let my head hang back, and I coughed up a huge glob of the stuff."
"If your aim was to make me feel better with that story, you failed miserably," he said, still surprisingly coherent after stuffing his nose with tissues. I saw him contort his face in pain, and grimaced guiltily.
"Well it's not like I asked you to come in and rudely wake me up the way you did," I scolded, checking the clock. It was four PM. "What did you want anyway?"
"I needed your help," he said, wiping at his nose. "I've been trying to think of books that everybody would have, instead of sifting through the crates. Thought it would be simpler. I've already checked the bible, dictionary, and other classics."
"Hold on, give me a second." I stood there, breathing deeply with closed eyes.
"Could you be a bit faster? This is kind of important."
"Hm? Oh, sorry, I was trying to commit you asking for my help to memory."
"Oh for gods sakes," he seethed, leaving me alone. I followed after, eager to anger him some more.
"John, I need to get some air. We're going out tonight." Sherlock was talking to the doctor who had just arrived back.
"Actually, I can't," John said. I smirked as I thought about his date. "I've got plans to stay home and watch television. It was long day at work and I'm ready to put my feet up."
"Wait, what?" I said, looking at him incredulously. "Don't you have a date with Sarah, the lady at your work you've been eyeing?"
John looked at me with raised eyebrows and a smile. "No, I didn't even have time to speak with her after all the patients I treated. There were a lot, I can tell you that."
"No, no, no, no!" I said angrily. Both Sherlock and John looked at me. "That's not how it's supposed to happen! You were supposed to come home and deny Sherlock's offer to go out tonight because you had a date! After falling asleep at work you would wake up later on and realise she had done more then a few of your patients for you, and then she'd ask why you were up so late, then you'd reply it was because you were attending a book event, and she'd ask if your girlfriend likes books, to which you'd say it wasn't a date and then follow up with saying you don't have one tonight either, and then you'd giggle together like schoolgirls." I walked over to Sherlock and gestured towards him. "Then when you got back and denied his offer, he would ask where you were going to which you'd reply the cinema, then he'd say it was dull and suggest taking her to the circus, which you'd scoff at but take her anyway, and once you arrived there to pick up the tickets you'd discover that there were three tickets instead of just two, and that this sly guy over here had booked an extra one to crash your date because in reality, he wanted to go because he realised that this circus was probably a front for the smuggling ring to get into London!" I finished, breathing heavily.
I looked at the two of them in turn, who glanced at each other in confusion.
"Oh... Shit. Yeah, you should ignore that. I was joking. Ha ha ha, see? It's funny."
Well met my followers! So, I just wanted to thank you guys for being all nice and everything. Really, I do not deserve your kindness. But you guys should know that my confidence level is shot right now. Is this story still any good? Seriously, is it funny or even interesting? I read another story that has more chapters then mine but less overall words, and it has 170 some reviews! Maybe I'm just being arrogant, but I thought that maybe my writing was a tad more mature and eloquent, so I deserve more reviews. I dunno, I'm just real depressed is all. The only thing that their fic has that mine doesn't is fluff. Is that what you guys want? Some godamn fluff? Believe me, I can rip all the cynicism out of this story and replace it with sickening, god awful romance if that's what you want (please don't make me do that).
Anyway, leave a review. Or don't. You know how much authors love not receiving reviews.
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